Muses and Saints
by you're using COCONUTS
Summary: What was supposed to be a simple hit on a bar in the North End of Boston turns dangerous as the Saints take Don Alberghi's only child and niece captive. ConnorOC. Rated M for violence and language.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: **_I do not own the Boondock Saints. The film and all that it's characters belong to Troy Duffy. _

---------------------------------------------

"Leila. You're beginning to scare me. You haven't looked up from that damn piece of paper in hours." A voice laughed beside the young woman, running his fingers through his chocolate brown hair.

"I know." She replied simply, her slight Italian accent coming through, "My senior portfolio is due in a month and I need to make it perfect."

Why she was working on her portfolio in the crowded bar was always maddening for some to understand. For a project that required such concentration, a noisy, smoke-filled room seemed like the worst possible place to work, as her cousin had learned over the years. Her dark brown hair pulled into a knot at the back of a head, a stray strand would flow in front of one of her eyes, and a charcoal pencil perched in her hand, making fluid movements across the piece of paper. There would have been trouble for her, if it wasn't for the fact that her uncle, Don Lucio Alberghi owned the bar. The corner table was customarily reserved for her, and several times a week, she could be found sitting down, her eyes glued to a piece of paper, either placing down the preliminary lines or the final details. Around her, life would whirl on, but she would be in her own world, one which was completely controlled by the principles of shadow and contrast, geometry, light and dark, and of design. Occasionally, one of Uncle Lucio's men would come over and try to talk to her, but when her face wouldn't rise from the paper, people tended to back away.

It was probably why Leila didn't notice the two men enter the bar. The bell on the door jingled as they entered, receiving several glances from people in the room. They weren't from around here, that was for sure. Anyone in the room could have noticed that. Between everyone in the bar, Uncle Lucio's men knew everyone in the room. "Hm." Vincent mumbled, "That's odd."

"What's odd, Vin?" Leila asked, her eyes still glued to her paper.

"Nothing, Bambina."

It was all it took to get her head to shoot up. "When are you going to stop calling me that?" she laughed, tucking a stubborn strand of stray hair behind her hear.

"When you're older than me." Vincent laughed, thumping her on the back.

"Oh. Very funny." Leila scoffed, dipping her napkin into the glass of beer Vincent had brought for her a half an hour ago. It was still practically full, the one beside her cousin almost gone. "You know that can never possibly happen." Wringing the excess liquid out of the napkin, Leila ran it gently across the paper, watching as the amber liquid soaked into the white paper, giving the lines on it a sort of richness she otherwise couldn't have achieved.

"I know. So the answer is that I'm never going to stop calling you Bambina." Vincent laughed, watching his cousin rub the beer-soaked napkin across her paper. "And Christ, Leila. You have to be one of the strangest girls I know."

Her eyes glancing up from her work, a wicked grin spread across Leila's face. "We're family, what do you expect?" she told him simply, eliciting a laugh from both of them.

---------------------------------------------

"Murph." Connor said as they took a seat at the empty end of the bar, "Are you sure this is going to work?" his voice was hushed, barely above a whisper. Eyes were upon them, glaring at them as if they could see their intentions.

"I'm sure, Con. It's exactly where Paul told us it is. North End, Italian bar, fits the description. And the people he told us about are right over there." The corners of his eyes drifted down towards the other end of the bar. Three large, muscular men were sitting, taking shots between themselves. Staring at a television set between them, rounds of ramous laughter emanated between them. Just by the look on his brother's face, Murphy could tell that Con was thinking the same thing he was. They were sent here for those three? They were strong arms, that was for sure, but they could both think of more deserving targets of their message. And besides, there was probably around twenty people in the room. They just wouldn't be taking out three; they would be taking out everyone.

The brothers hushed as a bartender came over to them. "What will you guys be having tonight?" he asked, eyeing the brothers with distrust.

"Beer." They both responded at the same time. The bartender walked over to the counter and brought out two bottles.

"Boys aren't from around here, are you?" he asked. He already knew the answer. Hell, everyone in the bar did, but he at least had to make some conversation with them; he had to with everyone who came to the bar.

The bottles in front of them, Connor and Murphy looked at one another, "We're from out of town." Murphy explained, trying to mask his Irish accent. "From New York." He added.

"Well," he said, shooting a glance over at Leila, "We get quite a few New Yorkers in here from time to time." And with that, he walked over to the other end of the bar, pouring the three large men another round of shots.

Connor and Murphy picked up their beers, taking off the caps and taking a swig. It was always nerve-wracking, those few moments right before you took up a hit. Thoughts always rushed through both of their minds, everything from what they were sent in their to do, their backup plans, and their worst case scenarios. Taking a deep breath, Connor turned to his brother.

"Ready?" he asked, making sure that his guns were in place underneath his black coat.

"As ready as I always am." Murphy added, doing the same. Rising nonchalantly from their stools, the two brothers walked towards the restrooms at the back of the bar. Glancing around them as they went, they took in where everyone was sitting, whether it looked like they were carrying a weapon or not, both of their minds picking out their targets. Once in the shadows, both brothers reached for their guns, returning drawn in each hand.

---------------------------------------------

Vincent's eyes again traveled to the two men at the bar. There was just something about them that didn't seem right. If there was a man in the North End, chances were that he knew them, or at least had seen them. But these boys, never. For the first time that night, he had fallen silent.

"Vin." Leila said, looking up for the second time that night from her drawing, "I know that something's irking you: tell me."

Smiling at his cousin, he merely shook his head. "Leila. I'm not going to worry you with my own gut instincts. We both know how often they're wrong."

"Yes. It's why you stopped going to poker night with the guys." She laughed, poking her brother across the table with the flat end of her pencil. She wouldn't stab him today; he wasn't worth the lead.

But regardless, Vincent's hand went to his shoulder. "Damn! Leila! That fucking hurt!"

"Liar." She laughed, crinkling her nose. "If I wanted it to hurt, I would have used the other end."

Raising his hands up into the air, he let out a laugh of his own. "I surrender." he laughed. "Just don't bring your wrath down upon me."

It was right when these words came out of his mouth that Vincent's eyes went back to the two brothers. Walking in their direction, Vincent's eyes caught theirs as they passed. Once they were out of sight, he turned to his cousin. "Leila." He said quietly, "Could you do me a favor? Move into the corner, please." Seeing her arched brow, Vincent merely shook his head, "Just humor me and my gut, please?"

Leila didn't know what it was. Maybe it was the tone of pleading in her brother's voice, quite possibly it was the fact that she too had seen the strangers and had gotten the same feeling that Vincent had. Shifting over to the corner of the table, Leila found herself bathed in the shadows. It took her eyes a while to adjust before she picked back up her pencil. It had taken her three weeks to work on this one charcoal drawing, and she didn't want to ruin it because of her own stupidity and inadequate lighting.

No longer hunched over the table, she sat up straight, trying to let every available bit of light illuminate her paper. Her brows knit in concentration, the first shot fired didn't even register in her mind. Feeling a hand press down on her back, Leila was thrust underneath the table. Bullets were now raining from the bar, with Vincent drawing out his pistol from his pocket, firing it at the two men in the middle of the bar. From where she was, Leila had an excellent view of what was going on. People she knew were dropping down with stains of blood on their clothes. Their eyes were unmoving; they were dead. A shot came in the direction of the table as Vincent dropped down beside her.

"Bambina." He whispered, clutching his shoulder, "When I say run, I want you to head for the back door and to Father's. Tell him what happened and don't leave." His eyes no longer held the pleading look that they did before, instead holding a commanding authoritarian glare.

A wash of defiance and fear came over Leila as she listened to Vincent's words. Part of her screamed to tell Vincent no, that she wasn't leaving him behind like that, but the other part of her mind told her to go- that he could keep care of himself. But so could she. But her when her cousin said something like that, he was usually right. Her mind was not attached to her body as she nodded her head, watching as more people dropped around them. It seemed like hours, but it was actually less than a minute. Leila's eyes caught Vincent's as the two men began to walk around the room, crossing the arms of their victims and placing pennies on their eyes. Traveling down to his arm, she noticed it was stained red. Her eyes growing wide, she was glad that he didn't see the look on her face. Again, her mind screamed to get him medical attention, but her body told her to stay put.

The two froze as the men approached the table where they were sitting. Kneeling down, Leila could see the pupils of their eyes as one kneeled down, praying over the body of the victim, while the other placed a coin on each of the eyes. Hopefully they would leave soon; Leila wanted to get Vincent to Uncle Lucio's; he could get him patched up, make sure that nothing was wrong with his shoulder. But a set of eyes locked onto hers as the two men were standing up. Tapping the other man on the shoulder, the two walked towards the table. Leila's arms went out, shielding her cousin, but he pushed them away. The barrel of one gun came under the table, then another. Not soon after, two heads followed.

"Shit, Con! I thought we got them all!" a voice hissed.

"So did I." the man named Connor chimed in. Staring at Leila, his eyes grew. "And fucking Christ, one of them's a girl! How the fuck are we going to deal with that?"

Leila didn't register the words that they were saying. Even though they were directly connected to her life or possible death, they just flowed into one ear and out the other. The only thought that resounded in her mind was one of shock. _So this is what it feels like right before you die._ She mused, trying to take her mind off of the manic fear that was coursing through her veins. _If death is this painless physically, I think I can handle it._

"She's going to have to come with us." The other voice responded, going down to his knees, he held out his hand to her. "She's an innocent, Con. A woman. We can't hurt her." But then his eyes fell upon Vincent. "But he looks like one of the guys Smecker described. Don Alberghi's kid. We can't just let him go."

"You won't hurt him!" Leila screamed, finally finding her voice. "Because I swear to God that if you do, it will be one of your last acts on this earth." She didn't know where these words came from; her mouth just opened and out they came.

"Really, lass." One of them said, "I really don't believe you should be making such threats. They could get you hurt."

Leila opened her mouth to respond, but Vincent beat her to it. "You wouldn't dare." He hissed, putting his arms protectively in front of Leila. "You hurt her, it will be your life. I can guarantee that."

---------------------------------------------

Upon hearing these words, Connor and Murphy stared at one another. Never have they been placed in a situation like this before. Every job they had ever done was quick and clean. Never had somebody been left alive, and never had they wasted their time like this. The gunshots had created a lot of noise and the police would be coming shortly. They're weren't in the South End anymore, so they couldn't depend on the police there to look the other way as they had at the courthouse; they had to get out of there quick.

"We have to get out of here." Murphy whispered, "The police are going to be here shortly and if we're caught there's going to be a lot of hell."

"But we can't leave them here. They witnessed everything. They could give us away right now." Connor replied. His hand went underneath the table, extending out towards Leila. "Come on." He told her gruffly, "We need to go."

He watched as the young woman merely stared at his hand, then back at the man who she was with. "No." she replied simply, "I cannot step out of the way unless I know that Vincent will be allocated the same treatment."

Staring at the two of them, he watched as the man pushed her forward, urging her to take his hand, but she refused- more adamantly this time. Maybe it was because of the loyalty that the two showed for one another- quite possibly it was because that loyalty was of the same sort he had for Murphy, did Connor do what he did. Letting out a deep sigh, he put away his gun. "Look, lass." He explained, "I don't want to hurt you, but we can't have you stay here. If you come with us, I promise that your friend will be safe as well." Yet again he held out his hand, and yet again did he see the young woman look back over towards the man with her, but this time she placed her hand in his, allowing herself to be brought out from underneath the table. Connor jerked his head at the man, gesturing for him to join them.

As he rose out from underneath the table, the first thing that Connor noticed was the giant red stain on his shirt. He'd been hit, pretty good too judging by the amount of blood. A small pool of it laid beneath the table where he had just been a second ago, the first thought that was running through his mind being what the police would do when they saw it.

"He needs medical attention." A female voice said, making more of a demand than a statement. "He probably still has a bullet in his arm and he's lost a lot of blood. The gunshot wound could get infected, you could have screwed up his muscles or nerves; he could die because of you two."

Looking over at his brother, Connor nodded his head at his brother's glare. If all would have gone right, this guy would have been dead. But because of some fluke he wasn't and now was a liability. He was about to tell the young woman this much, but decided against it.

"That can wait. Right now, we need to leave. Does this place have a back exit?" he asked, staring at the young woman. He noted the defiant gleam in her eye, the stubborn set of her jaw as she clenched it closed; he noticed then how her eyes traveled down to where his gun was concealed. He watched as she glanced back at the man she had been hiding.

"Right over there." She said quietly, her finger pointing just a few feet away from where they stood, "The door right next to the bathroom."

Hearing what he wanted, Connor's hand grasped her wrist and began to walk towards the door. Yet again, she looked back over her shoulder, but this time not to her brother, instead focusing her attention on the table.

"Just leave it, Bambina." The voice whispered, "You can make another one."

"But I've been working on that for two months!" she hissed, trying to pull free and go over to the table, but the grip Connor had on her arm was too strong.

"We need to get going, Con!" Murph said, "We don't have much time."

Connor began to lengthen his stride, disregarding the force on the other end of his arm. It felt like he was pulling along a dead body until they reached the exit, at which point he felt the girl's arm go limp. Giving her quick glace over his shoulder, he saw her walking head down, her pace hurried. _Finally she's cooperating._ Connor thought as he rounded the corner, heading towards the car Smecker had left for them. Opening up the door, he ushered the young woman in then walked around to the other side, watching as Murphy pushed the man in before he slid into the passenger seat. Turning the key in the ignition, he drove off, trying not to do anything that would draw the attention of the cops. Maneuvering down the streets towards home, he pulled up along a tall building. Stepping out of the car, he opened up the back door and grabbed onto the young woman's arm, knowing that the man in the back seat would follow. If the two had stuck together back in the bar like that when they were staring down two guns, they'd stick together now.

Up several flights of stairs they went, finally reaching the right door. Stopping in his tracks, Connor turned around to face the two. "Now listen. I didn't want to do this. I wish I could let you guys go, but you know too much and I don't know if I can trust you." Turning back around, he didn't see the look of fear register across the young woman's face, the look of somebody who was staring down death, as he walked through the door.


	2. Chapter 2

Walking inside the door, Connor tried to run through his mind how he would explain this. Smecker said that it would be a difficult job. They'd done nine guys before, but going into a bar was different. An unknown amount of men in a room who might or might not have guns had never appealed to him. Nobody would take it well when they found out that they hadn't managed to do the job completely, that they had actually brought home two hostages (and there was no other word for them but hostages). Da was going to have a fit, that much he knew.

"Connor, my boy." He said, rising from the kitchen table where he had been seated, "How did everything go? How was the assignment?" A sort of grin spread across his face, the sort that bordered between being sheepish and a grimace.

"As well as could be expected, Da." Connor said, "There were probably around twenty something guys. We went in, got out. Found two people hiding along the way." He added, his voice trailing off as he spoke these words.

If there ever was a man who it was necessary to read, it was Connor's father. While his face was most of the time impassive, there were moments when it would show slight flashes of thoughts or emotions. Most of them were simple and lacking in danger, but there were a few where you wanted to step back and give him some room. This was one of those moments. His eyes growing wide, Connor followed his gaze over to the doorway where Murphy and the other two stood.

"Yer brought them back?" Connor held back a cringe as his father roared, "Murphy! Get them inside right now." Murphy escorted the two inside, closing the door behind them. It was a moment of relief, a moment of relief that was short lived as Connor felt a pair of hands gripping his shoulder. "What the hell were you boys thinking?" he shouted, shooting a glance over at Leila and Vincent. "She's an innocent and he shouldn't have made it out of the god damned room." His eyes wandered over to the young man as he noticed his shoulder. 'And fucking Christ, he was hit?" Connor and Murphy's father mumbled, shaking his head.

"He was." A voice chimed in, "And he needs to see a doctor." Connor's eyes fell upon the young woman as she repeated her demand again. Stepping out of the way, he watched as Da approached the two, stepping up to the young woman. Connor knew his father would never strike a woman, but there was just something about his eyes, their whites seemed more vibrant, more insane than before. There was only one other time he had seen him like this, and that was when he was at the courthouse, placing a gun to the back of a man's head.

But much to his surprise, his eyes softened as he reached the young woman. "Aye. That he does, lass. But I'm afraid we can't bring him." He explained. The look of compassion spread across his face as he watched the young woman straighten herself up, lengthening her spine in defiance. "It would be a very unwise decision for all of us, to walk into a hospital with a man who had taken a bullet to his shoulder. People would ask questions. And after all yer've seen, I don't want yer answerin' them."

"I will not let Vincent die because one of your sons shot him." She hissed, stepping back towards her cousin. "If you guys won't bring him to the hospital, so heaven help me, I will." Connor felt her eyes bore into him, a sort of fire burning at their gaze. Unadulterated hatred in its purest form.

Holding up a hand in protest, Leila hushed, listening as the father spoke. "He won't die there, lass. I can promise yer that." Turning around, he looked Murphy dead in the eye. "Murph. I need yer to take this young lass aside for a moment."

Stepping forward, Murphy gently placed a hand on Leila's arm, leading her towards another door. Turning his attention to Connor, his father snapped, "Now, I need yer to go and get me my bag."

His attention was now returned to the young man who had been standing by the girl's side. "And lad, Vincent I think she said your name was. Everything's going to be fine." Looking him over, these words just didn't seem to fit. His face was waxy, his lips losing their color; his pupils had dilated to an unnatural size; and he was shaking. "I'm goin' to fix yer up. I've done it before" he added, sensing a pair of eyes bore into his shoulderblade, "It might take a while, but before long, yer'll be back to normal."

Returning with the bag, glanced over at his brother, watching as he lead the young woman into their bedroom. Da quickly snatched the bag up from his hands, opening it up and turning his attentions back to Vincent. "I'm going to need yer to take off yer shirt, lad." He said, fully taking in the extent of the damage as he did. "And I think I should warn yer, this is going to hurt."

---------------------------------------------

While it was strange, a wave of hope swept over Leila the moment she had stepped out from underneath that table. Vincent was like her other half, a twin if she ever had one, and he was alive. The way the brothers looked at him told Leila that he shouldn't be, but that didn't matter; all that mattered was that Vincent was alive. He had always been something of a rational voice to her, calling her back from the other world that she seemed to permanently reside in to reality. His words seemed to drown out the despair she had at leaving a piece of her artwork behind, pulling her yet again back into reality. She would do anything for him, and anything to keep him alive.

"_He needs medical attention."_ Those words had flooded through her mind from the moment she had seen the blood on her cousin's shirt. First to the brothers, then to their father. _"He's going to die without it."_ There was no way she would allow him to be murdered, especially by two men so heartless. She wanted to scream as her demand was brushed aside at the bar, she wanted to somehow hurt those two as much as they had her and her cousin; she wanted them dead.

But the older man seemed different. There wasn't the same cool detachment in his eyes. Instead Leila found a sort of compassion, no matter how slight it might be. "He'd promised to help, how Leila didn't know, but at the moment she was willing to believe anything. Feeling a hand on her arm, she instinctively jerked away, breaking out of its grip, but again it came, gently placing its fingers against her forearm.

"Yer goin' to need to come with me, lass." It was a different voice this time, softer, it's lilt less prominent. Glancing back over her shoulder, Leila took one final glance at Vincent. _He would be okay_. She told herself. _He's been through worse; he'll be okay._

Following the gentle tugs on her arm, Leila found herself at yet another door. As if flew open, she was lead inside, her muscles freezing. A bedroom. After all that had happened today, she was in a bedroom. She backed up against the closed door as she saw the young man take a seat on one of the beds. Reaching around his waist, Leila tried to control herself as she saw him remove a belt. Two guns. A sense of fear rose over her as she watched him pull out two more. Alone in a room with a man with four guns, that was the last place she wanted to be at the moment. Sensing a set of eyes on her, she reset her face in a look of defiance, her emerald green eyes meeting his stormy blue ones, conveying nothing but loathing.

"There's no need for that there," he said, actually chuckling, "I'm not goin' to hurt yer. Have a seat. It might take a while and yer might get tired standing for so long."

Words from a captor were never to be believed, that was the thought that ran through her mind. They were heartless enough to kill family and friend, they'd have no pangs of guild over harming you, or worse. Her eyes traveled around the room. It was simple: wooden floor with wide boards, like those you would find in an older building, white walls, unadorned with any frames; two beds sat side by side, haphazardly made with a myriad of mixed-matched sheets; a single window sitting across the way. It was the window that caught her attention, the hazy glow of a street lamp catching against the glass and causing it to luminate a faint gold. Walking over, she rested her elbows against the sill, placing her hand in the palms of her hands.

Despite everything, Leila was still able to appreciate the majesty of he view before her. The haze of the lamps below provided a soft glow to the few passing people, their silhouettes outlined by the same golden glow that tinted the window. The rich reds and slates or the buildings soaked up this faint glow, making their colors even deeper. If life was a canvass, this was the sort of picture that she would paint. One untainted by corruption, of the majesty of what her freshman art teacher had called 'urban nature': the labyrinth of streets, the jungle of automobiles, the prides or people. It would be a canvass of the magnificence of human creativity, of the beauty in the nature they created with their minds and hands.

A scream quickly stifled brought her back to reality, a wave of concern washing over her as she jumped up from the window. Again, she felt a hand rest itself on her arm, steering her towards the bed. "Everything's going to be fine, lass." Whether Leila believed his words or not, she didn't know, but she did find herself sitting down, staring at a blank expanse of wall right beyond his head.

---------------------------------------------

"_And I think I should warn yer, this is going to hurt."_

No fucking shit. Hurt was an understatement. It felt like a thousand knives were stabbing him, carving off his very skin, but in all actuality, it was only one. One knife, digging into his shoulder, scooping out a piece of metal that had lodged itself in his muscle. He clenched his teeth shut, not wanting to cry out in pain. He had always seen pain as a weakness, and hated showing any signs of it. And besides, he shouldn't be worried on the pain of the moment as much as he should have the possible pain of the future. What was to happen to himself? To Leila? He'd seen her being lead through another door by one of the brothers from the bar. He only hoped that she was alright. All was silent but for the orders barked by the older man and the occasional input of the young man with him.

He didn't trust them. Well, he trusted the older man, but not the young one. It was the younger one, with the steel gray eyes and spiky light brown hair who had acted so roughly back there, who had never taken his gun off of the two of them. He had a sense of anger about him that struck Vincent as dangerous, and he had been around dangerous men before. In the corner of his mind, a slight clinking sound registered as the older man barked out for some needle and thread. That was when Vincent lost it, the sharp point diving in and out of his skin relentlessly made the pit of his stomach drop, his consciousness beginning to fade away.

The next thing he knew, a piece of fabric was gagging him. Biting down on it he tried to relieve the pain with his teeth, focusing all of his energy onto the cloth, his eyes clenched in pain.

_Leilia._ His mind fluttered, wondering what was happening to her. Little Bambina, more a sister than a cousin. She was always the one who managed to lift his spirits, a bright little puzzle box that he would never be able to figure out. Ever since they were young, it had always been the two of them, side by side, receiving the same praises, the same rebukes, eliciting the same laughs from people. It was as if he were looking into a mirror and saw himself in female form, and he didn't know what he would do without that reflection.

Bandages began to wrap around his shoulder as the cloth fell out of his mouth. "That should hold, there." A an older, raspy voice said, helping Vincent off the table. "Yer might not want to use that arm for a while, but it should heal."

Vincent knew he should have been grateful, but his mind was traveling around the room. These men, they were killers, murders. Cold and heartless. They'd killed several of his father's best men without so much as even a second thought. They couldn't be trusted.

"Leila." He demanded, "Where is she?"

He felt a set eyes bore on his back. Turning around, Vincent met the young man's gaze, returning it with the same look of hatred his cousin had given the man before. "I swear if you or your brother have laid a finger on her…"

"What?" the voice snapped, "it will be the last thing we ever do?" Connor said, a hint of sarcasm dripping into his words, "Now, there boy. Yer'e in no place to bargain like that; yer'e lucky you even made it out of the bar-thank your girl for that one." He said, jutting his head towards the door. His hand on the knob, he threw it open, casting a shadow in the doorframe.

"Leila."


	3. Chapter 3

"_Leila?" _

Her head snapped up, a smile spreading across her face. It had taken her a moment to register the shadow, even longer the voice; but when her mind finally figured who both belonged to, she jumped up from the bed.

"Vin!" she gasped, running over to her cousin. Her eyes fell upon his bandage shoulder, a look of relief coupled with that of one of concern. "How's your arm? Is it okay?" Her words were hurried, rushed out so quickly that the syllables blended together in an incoherent tangled web. She needed to hear him say he was fine; it would take the weight of the world off her mind.

His face knotted into something between a grin and a grimace as Leila spoke, "They pieced me back together, so there's no need to worry your little head off, Bambina." Now it was Leila's turn to grimace as she heard her family name, causing Vincent to laugh, "But to be honest with you, it hurts like fucking hell. I suggest staying away from bullets if you can avoid them." His words again managed to bring about laughter, but this time from Leila.

"Believe me. I plan on it." She assured him. Pulling Vincent into a hug, laughter began to rain from her face, tears forming at the corners of her eyes. "I'm just so glad you're okay." She said in between laughs, "You scared me back there."

"I know." He said, "I had a feeling that I had."

"But everybody's okay now, lass." A famaliar, somewhat comforting voice said behind her, "But the hour is late and you should be getting some rest."

Rest, that was a foreign word to Leila. Hours on end were spent working on her portfolio, then countless others spent visiting her aunt and uncle. Plus there was the times spent at the museum as she worked on her internship. Sleep just took the back seat when she had so much to do, as it should be in Leila's mind. "As you said, sir." Leila said simply, "Everything's fine. And everything being such, I really do think that I should be getting home. I have to be at the museum early tomorrow." It was a lie—she knew it, Vincent knew it, but it was a good lie to boot.

"You know that's not an option, Bambina." Another voice chimed in. Sitting in one of the chairs, his foot resting against the wall, a small smirk played across Connor's face. "How do I know you won't go running to the police and turn us in?"

She opened her mouth to speak. Who the hell was he to call her that? Bambina? Did he even know what that meant? Hell, she' tried to get her family from using it, but the age of their relationship and their blood ties severed all attempts at such. A reassuring hand fell on her shoulder, her voice of reason returned, and words did not come out. Regardless of how he had addressed her, he did have a point, and Leila knew it. She wouldn't have run to the police, but she would have gone straight across the city to her uncle's house and told him everything, placing the boys in a worse situation than if she would have gone to the cops. Seeing that she wasn't going to challenge his words, the older man continued, "You can have my room."

"No. Thank you, but I can't." she said simply, "I appreciate it and all, but I'm really not tired."

"I insist, lass." The older man said. There's a cot in there to for Vincent here as well. You need your sleep; it looks like you haven't gotten any in ages."

Her eyes darting back over to Vincent, Leila saw him incline his head. "That's what I've been telling her for weeks." He added, holding up a hand in protest as Leila opened her mouth to rebuttal. "I rest my case, Bambina. You're working yourself to exhaustion."

Letting out a sigh, she took everyone in the room in, "Okay. I give up." She said, throwing her arms up in the air. "I know how to pick and chose my battles, and this is one that I won't be fighting." Taking the older man's hand, she allowed him to lead her to where she would be sleeping, knowing that Vincent would not be far behind.

---------------------------------------------

Connor had called Smecker the moment Da ha brought Leila to her room. This was bad. Really fucking bad. Holing a mafia don's kid hostage along with some woman that they didn't know where her loyalties lied? Shit, they were asking for trouble. Things didn't sound too good on Smecker's end either. The man ha let out an exasperating sigh as he had picked up the phone, practically ripping Connor to shreds when he explained the situation. He was to come over that morning, to see if the situation was really as bad as the boys said it was.

Seated at the table, he stared at the clock, watching as it ticked up the time. It was five thirty in the morning; his head was killing him from the night before and the prospect of a meeting with Smecker was not high on his list. But there were worse things that could happen, one of which happened to be standing just a few feet away from him. Turning around, he let out a sigh of frustration. Just the person he wanted to see at the moment.

"Oh. It's you." He said flatly, the irritation from last night and this morning slipping into his words. He'd always been told that women were difficult, but she by far took the cake. Temperamental, pushy, defensive, the girl was exactly why he believed homosexuality was so rampant. Just spending five minutes in a room with her was enough to make someone believe that all women were the root of all evil.

"No need to sound so enthused." She snipped back, walking over to the window.

"But what are you doing up so early?" he asked, still seated at the table. "Da said last night you looked like the walking death."

Her eyes swung over to Connor, her lids narrowing into a glare as her eyes met his. It was the type of look that made you feel like you had needles in your spine, and Connor found himself not able to hold her stare for long. "Is that a crime here? Waking up early?" she asked, "An answering your question, I don't sleep much. So any comments about my sleeping patterns from everyone can be put to rest."

A small grin tugged at the corners of his mouth. Even in his current state, he had appreciate her unrelenting attitude. She'd been dragged from a bar by two strangers and was still acting the same the next morning. He assumed this was how she always was: mouthy and sarcastic. "No, it's not a crime. Just wasn't expecting it, that's all." He stared at her for a moment more, watching her gaze focus itself once again out the window. Her watched as her hand went up to her chocolate brown hair, several strands of it having fallen out of the knot she had it back in, tucking those strands behind her ear. She reminded him of a child like that, a child traveling through a dream world from which they never really woke up.

Three sharp raps on the door brought Connor back to reality. Rising from his seat, he walked over to the door, pressing his eye against the peephole so he could make sure it was who he was expecting. Smecker. Finally he had arrived. Undoing the locks on the door, he opened it up for the agent.

"Now how bad is it." He said curtly, taking a seat at the table. A Styrofoam cup of coffee was in his hand an he took a swig of it while he waited for Connor.

Glancing over at Leila, he shook his head. "Pretty bad."

Smecker's gaze followed his over to the window. "Fuck! There was a girl there?" he hissed, "So much for an in and out job. I knew I shouldn't have cleared anything outside of the South End. Was there anyone else?" he asked.

Connor could tell that he was bracing himself for the worst, so taking a deep breath, Connor was prepared to deliver the worst: "There was another, a kid by the name of Vincent we think he's Alberghi's kid. Got him pretty good in the shoulder and ended up bringing him back with us."

"Now why the fuck would you do that?" Smecker hissed, his eyes narrowing on Connor. In response, Connor jerked his head over towards the window. "The girl? You brought him back because of the girl? Fuck, Connor! What the fuck were you thinking?"

"She refused to let us go until we promised his safe return as well. We didn't have the time to waste. We couldn't just leave the two of them and I wasn't about to shoot her either." He explained. Seeing the look on Smecker's face, Connor shook his head, "He's still sleeping, Paul. I don't want to create any more hell by waking him up so you can interrogate him."

"Damn right you won't." a voice came from over by the window. Both men turned to face Leila, "He's probably still sleeping off his injuries you gave him. Gunshots do take a lot out of a person."

Connor shook his head, trying to hold back his temper. Every time Vincent was called into question, she jumped right in, making her point known loud and clear. He couldn't get anything done with her around! She was difficult, there was no other way to put it. Opening his mouth, he was prepared to tell her off, but Smecker's words came to him first.

"Well, then. If he is incapable of speaking at the moment, maybe you could answer a few questions for me."

---------------------------------------------

"_Well, then. If he is incapable of speaking at the moment, maybe you could answer a few questions for me."_

Leila's eyes narrowed at these words, as if her gaze could take in everything there was to know about him. "Who are you that I have to answer your questions?" she asked sharply. She knew better than to just start talking. She'd seen too many people get killed because they didn't know when to keep their traps shut.

Her eyes never leaving the older blonde man, she watched as he reached into his jacket and pulled out a badge, showing it to Leila. "Agent Paul Smecker, FBI." He said, putting his credentials back in his jacket.

Part of Leila's mind screamed to get the hell out of there. Out of all the situations in the world, this was probably one of the worst: across from her was a member of the FBI and beside her was a murderer. Talking in front of either of them screamed stupid, even her uncle's lowest of enforcers knew that much, but against her better judgment, she found herself responding to his request, "I'll answer which questions are within my digression to answer." She said simply, watching as Smecker pulled out a small recorder.

Ignoring her comments, his finger pressed down on a the small play button. " I'm going to be recording this." He explained before starting, shifting in his seat to get comfortable. "Now, could I get your name please."

"Leila….Giordano." she said, pausing for a moment to consider whether to use hers or Vincent's last name.

" Leila Giordano. Possibly from the same Giordano family from New York?" he asked to which Leila nodded her head. She watched as Smecker glanced over at Connor, shaking his head slightly, "And the same Leila Giordano whose has a piece on display at the MFA?" Again, her head nodded, but this time, it was her turn to speak.

"Which piece was it?" she asked holding back a smile, wanting to make sure she actually knew what he was talking about. There was a little saying that her uncle had for police who tried to play nice with those they were interrogating: tea and sympathy for the suspect. They'd try to get on your good graces, wear you down your suspicions with kindness, and then back you into a corner. But still, it was nice to hear that somebody actually recognized her work, especially somebody who she didn't even know.

"The still life of the desk by the window, pen and ink." He replied, eliciting a smile from Leila.

"Notice anything stylistic about it?" she asked, this time genuinely asking. If there was a conversation to be had with a stranger, chances are she would make it about art in some shape or form.

"Based on the geometric structure of it and the way the subject matter was presented, I would have to take a stab and say that it was a mixture of modern and post-impressionism."

A smile came across Leila's face when she heard this. "You're the first person who got that." She laughed, and I haven't even seen you around the museum a lot." And Leila knew almost everybody who entered through the building's doors. She spent more time there than some of the curators, coming in on her days when she wasn't on her internship just to sit and draw some of the sculptures in the building.

"I'm surprised, Ms. Giordano." He said, clearing his throat and sitting up. Following suit, Leila regained her composure and sat up straight in her chair, preparing herself for a battery of questions.

"If I might ask, what were you doing in the bar that night, Ms. Giordano? It's not exactly the kind of place a female in your situation frequents."

A small smile returned to her face, "Female in my situation?" she said, raising a brow. "I didn't think there were many. But that is neither here nor there." She added with a wave of her hand. "I go to the bar because it's, well I used to think, that it was a safe place. All of those men in there were my uncle's men, none of them would lay a hand on me. Plus, it was a wonderful environment, perfect for capturing my muse." She explained, "If you go over and check, you might find my project on one of the tables."

"We did." Smecker said, "And another fine piece of work, Ms. Giordano. But your uncle's men? May I ask who your uncle is?" Reaching into his jacket pocket, her pulled out a small box of cigarettes, offering it first to Leila, then Connor before taking one himself. The two men lit up then turned yet again to face Leila. Taking a deep drag, Smecker exhaled, waiting for her to answer.

There was a pause for a moment while Leila tried to remember what she had just said. Was her foot cursed to spend the rest of eternity in her mouth? Did she have to speak without fucking thinking? Obviously, today proved that she was. It wasn't within her better digression to answer the question, she knew that much, but her mouth opened anyways. " Don Lucio Alberghi." She said simply.

"So. You're his niece." Smecker concluded, taking yet another drag of his cigarette. "So that would make the other guy they brought back your…"

"Cousin, yes." Leila concluded. Both her an Smecker turned towards Connor as they watched Connor's eyes grow wide and snort.

Catching both of their glances, he merely shrugged his shoulders, "It's nothing." He said, focusing his decision back on his cigarette.

"Now. Can you tell me what you saw in the bar?" he asked, "Starting from when you entered till you left with the brothers?"

Taking a deep breath, she looked over at Connor, who didn't seem too happy that she was being asked about what happened in there. Turning her head away from him, Leila focused her attentions on Smecker, telling him everything from how quiet it was when they first came in, how she hadn't been paying much attention, how everyone seemed to get a little wigged out when the brothers entered the room. How her cousin had told her to move to the shadowy part of the corner table, how they had started shooting everyone in sight. She finished by telling them how Connor and Murphy had found them, how they had wanted to shoot Vincent, how she'd refused to leave without him.

"Aye. But we fixed him up, didn't we." Connor snorted, "We didn't leave him to die. We didn't shoot him, so what're you complaining about?"

Leila stood up, placing her hands on the table. "Not complaining. Pissed off." She snapped, "I don't know anybody who'd have the nerve of you two. Going into a bar full of people you don't even know, killing them without a second thought. You didn't know those men." She hissed, "They might have been killers, some of them might have done some bad things in their lives, but they were good men. They'd never hurt somebody who hadn't wronged them or theirs. And never would they do somebody like you were about to do Vincent."

Their eyes locked on one another, their stares were boring into one another, It wasn't until Smecker cleared his throat that the two of them broke eye contact, Connor blushing slightly.

"You wouldn't understand." He mumbled.

Her arms crossed across her chest, Leila glared at him again, "Try me." She whispered.

"Please, Ms. Giordano. Have a seat." Smecker said, waving a hand back over towards her chair. Taking a seat, Leila stared at Connor, then turning her gaze back towards Smecker. "That is all I have to ask you right now. Thank you for cooperating with me." Turning to face Connor for a moment, Leila took that time to look and see if Vincent was awake yet, fining no signs of him anywhere. "Now, Connor. Give me a call when the other one wakes up. And Ms. Giordano." He said, turning yet again to Leila. "I suggest you get changed and cleaned up." He said, noting some blood stains on her jacket and shirt that she didn't notice.

"I can't." she said, letting out a sigh of exasperation, "Somebody won't let me go to my apartment." Her eyes yet again traveled to Connor in an accusatory fashion.

"She'd turn us in the moment she got away." Connor snapped.

Rising from the table, Smecker held his hands in the air in a calming gesture. "Both of you: settle down. Leila, you will be allowed to return to your apartment to gather up your belongings at which point you will return with them to the apartment. And Connor." Smecker added, silencing his protests, "since you are so afraid that Ms. Giordano is going to turn you in, you will be accompanying her."


	4. Chapter 4

"Agent Smecker, I can assure you that I can make it to my apartment by myself without causing any trouble whatsoever." Leila said, following Smecker to the door, "I am not a child and resent being treated as such." Her strides were longer than usual, trying to reach the door before him. But by the time she reached the doorway, Smecker was already standing inside it. Arms against the wooden frame, he stared at Leila.

"Ms. Giordano." He said simply, "You need to go to your apartment, but we can't allow you to go by yourself. After what happened last night, they'll be people out looking for you and your cousin. Plus, Connor's afraid you're going to turn everybody in, so it's in everyone's best interest if he goes with you." As he spoke, Leila merely stared at him. He spoke like a man who was explaining something to a room of kindergarteners, using a tone that she neither respected nor acknowledged.

"Everyone's best interests?" she scoffed, "I fail to see how it is in my best interest. If I remember correctly, it was _him_ who shot everyone in that bar. So what do you decide to do? Send me out with a murderer? Brilliant! The FBI must be greet you every morning with open arms."

She had expected Smecker to snap back, or at least show some sort of displeasure with her words, but instead Leila saw a small smile tug at the corners of her mouth. "Ms. Giordano." He said patiently, "There are matters at work of which you are not aware. I cannot have you running to the police, or to your uncle, or to your father, or to the media telling them what happened. Trust me, it would bad for everyone involved. Secondly, I do believe that you'll go to some sort of authority, and as I stated before, that's not going to happen. And thirdly, I want to make sure you get where you need to go and back safely."

How traveling with Connor was supposed to make anyone feel safe was beyond her. Hell, the man had killed everyone in the goddamned bar without even blinking an eye. But if it was the only way to get to her belongings, the she would go with him. Her eyes traveled over to Connor's, narrowing in a challenge. All that needed to be said was conveyed in their connected gazes; and with a curt nod of her head, she turned back to Smecker. "Fine." She said simply, "If that's the only way I can return to my apartment, then I guess I'll have to accept the fact that he'll be coming with me." The thought didn't please her in the least. It wasn't in her plans to run right now; if she did, Leila knew that she would be leaving Vincent to his ends. She knew they would kill him; he was a liability. But not while she was around. No. Something about them made her think that they wouldn't harm them while she was there, and something else told her that one brother wouldn't act unless the other was there.

"Glad to hear that Ms. Giordano." Smecker drawled. The tone was back; again he believed he was speaking to a little child. "I'll be back to check on everything tomorrow." And with that, he was out the door.

The apartment was silent once again. Tearing her eyes away from the door, Leila turned her glare yet once again towards Connor. Opening her mouth to speak, she was surprised when Connor beat her to it. "Let's just get this over with." He said, grabbing his jacket off of a chair.

"Yes. Let's."

---------------------------------------------

Accompanying her? What on Earth had he done to deserve this? He wasn't the one who had to make such a big deal out of everything somebody said; he wasn't the one who tried to make an argument out of fucking everything. The only thing he had done was actually be stupid enough to be in the same goddamned room as her when Paul arrived. Why was it that he always had to get the difficult part of the job? Why didn't Murphy ever end up getting stuck with something like this? If he got stuck dealing with this bitch, he should have to be right there beside him, suffering with him like a good brother should. But no, his ass got out of bitch duty because he was still fucking sleeping.

It was amusing watching Leila argue with Paul. Storming across the apartment as of she had an army behind her, her arms crossed, chin jutted out. He could have sworn that he saw fire in her eyes, a sort of rage that she could call upon at will and bring it down upon whoever was closest. Thank goodness it wasn't him this time. But what was strange was that he had never heard anyone talk to Smecker like that. Hell, him and Murph would give him a little hell from time to time, but never would they come out openly like that and tell him off. He was half expecting Paul to snap at her, like he had done Greenley on countless occasions, but instead he just smiled.

He doubted she was even listening to the explanation that he was giving to her, not with her gaze switching over to him like that. He knew that glare, it was one that he had given Murphy time and time again. One that screamed competition, taunting him, saying that he wouldn't be able to stand her for a mere hour. But he'd put up with worse. His eyes narrowing in return, the corners of his mouth twitched as she gave him a curt nod, turning back to Smecker.

Watching as he walked out the door, he finally turned to Leila. She was going to snap at him next, telling him that they needed to get going. But she wanted a challenge; he would give her a challenge. "Let's just get this done and over with." He said bluntly, walking over to the chair to grab his coat and threw it over to Leila. "Put it on. It's cold outside." He told her, only to have it thrown back at him.

"I have one with me." She replied, her tone bored as if she were stating the obvious. "If it's so cold out there, why don't you let me get mine and you keep yours? That would be the smart thing to do."

_Smart thing to do? _He thought, holding back a snort. He'd just have to enlighten her as to how 'smart' the smart thing to do was. "Well, Leila. The jacket you came in with has bloodstains on it." He snapped, "If you want people starin' at yer as ye walk past, then go right ahead, get yer fucking coat."

"Then what do you plan on doing, oh wise one? You said so yourself, it's cold out there."

A small grin came across Connor's face as she spoke those words. She just didn't know when to give up, did she? Even though he'd been around her for less than a day, he had her pegged as one of those people who always had to have the last word, no matter what. Walking towards the closet, he opened up the door and pulled out an almost identical coat to the one he had been trying to throw at Leila. "This is what I'm going to do." Putting his brother's jacket on, he threw his to Leila. "Now. Are ye going to put the damn thing on or what?"

His words earned him another dagger like glare as she slipped on the jacket, buttoning it up. On her, it looked more like a dress than a jacket, falling down to her knees, but it was better than nothing, and much better than getting told off by Da for not keeping care of her.

"There. Can we just go now?" Leila sighed, walking towards the door.

_And there's her last word._ Connor thought, beating her to the door and walking her down the stairs. Reaching the car that Smecker had left for them, he walked over to the driver's side. "Excuse me." Leila said, her arms crossed in front of her chest, "And why is it that you get to drive? I'm the one who knows where we're going?"

_Because I don't fucking trust you. _"Because I don't fucking trust ye, okay." He snapped, pausing only after the words had left his mouth. Yet again, he could have sworn that he saw that same angry fire in her eyes, but the flash of flame was gone before he could properly register it. The door across from him slammed as Leila got inside the car, staring straight ahead with a scowl on her face.

---------------------------------------------

"_Because I don't fucking trust ye, okay." _Leila didn't know why those words hit her so hard, but it felt like she had been hit upside the head with a blunt object. She wasn't to be trusted, then fine. Glaring at Connor, she walked over to the passenger door, throwing it open as she got inside, slamming it behind her. Staring ahead, she tried to regain some sense of composure. She'd never been talked to like that before, not in her twenty four years on this earth. She'd been told off by her father plenty of times, but never to the extent and by a complete stranger to add injury to insult.

Hearing another door close, she kept her gaze straight ahead, not even acknowledging his voice when he spoke. "And where the fuck to we have to go, lass?" She didn't respond to his question. "Are you deaf or something or are ye just fucking ignoring me? Where the fuck do you live?"

She wanted more than anything to tell him to go to hell at that moment, to tell him to leave her the fuck alone if he couldn't speak to her in a decent tone. But the words that came out were different. "If you can't trust me, then how do you know that I'll give you the correct directions?" she hissed, "How do you know I won't lead you into some sort of trap?"

Turning to face him, her face was impassive. She wanted to see him trip over his own words, to swallow them and admit that he was wrong. It was a game. If he was going to keep her at his damn apartment, she definitely was going to do everything in her powers to make him let her go. A small smile tugged at the corners of her mouth when she saw his face screw up into a knot before opening his mouth. "I guess I don't." he mumbled.

"Meaning…" Leila said, nonchalantly circulating her hand in front of her. The smile on her face was growing into one of impending victory.

"Meaning that I'm going to have to fucking trust ye, okay?" Connor snapped, causing the small grin on Leila's face to spread.

"That's right you will." She said, patting him on the shoulder. It was amusing the look that came over his face at that moment, a peculiar mix of what looked like frustration, annoyance, and indigestion.

"Just tell me where ye fucking live, lass." He snapped. "Because this is wasting my goddamned time."

Her face screwing into a knot of mock concentration, Leila spent a moment pretending to ponder the question, whether to give him the answer or not or annoy him a bit more. It was a game to her, that much was known. In a world where most people took out their aggressions and frustrations with violence and words, Leila reverted to the more childlike method of annoyance. The words 'brat' and 'bitch' had fallen off of many people's mouths when speaking of the young lady, especially when Leila was trying to elicit that impression. Bitchieness was a tool she learned could be employed to achieve her ends, one of the few tools that she could actually wield well, and today she planned on putting it to the test.

"Fenway." She said simply, "I live in Fenway."

"Finally!" he sighed, turning the key in the ignition and driving down around the corner. Leila contented herself with playing the role of backseat driver for the rest of the ride. Comments like "you're going the wrong way" and "now where the hell are you going?" were abundant, causing Connor to tell her to shut up on more than one occasion.

Her eyes fell upon famaliar signs and sights as they went down famaliar street after famaliar street. Connor's voice droned during this entire process. "Is it that street?" That one? That one?" Each time receiving a simple 'no' from Leila.

Fifteen minutes passed until their exchanges changed, "Down that road. My apartment's above The Rack." A few moments later, they were out of the car and walking up the stairs. Pulling her keys out of her pocket, Leila opened the door stepping inside as Connor followed.

"I'll try not to take long." She lied, "Just sit down and try to be patient." Walking across the room, she walked through another door to collect her belongings.

---------------------------------------------

The drive was difficult to say the least. Never before had he been around somebody so fucking difficult. He'd heard the saying mafia brat before, but usually he used it as a joke amongst Murph and Roc after a hit. Never had he actually seen somebody who fit the mold so perfectly. Part of him wondered if she actually enjoyed pissing people off, if it was a sort of pastime for her like some people enjoyed going out to the bar and telling each other to go fuck off, except when she said it she wasn't joking. When they finally reached her apartment, he was relieved. And above a bar nonetheless. If things got bad, he could always just run downstairs for a drink. Hell, he needed one after spending the morning with her.

Following into her apartment, he plopped down on the sofa, trying to take in what laid around him. People who said his apartment was messy definitely should see this place. There weren't empty beer bottles and pizza boxes lying around, but there were more crumpled up pieces of paper and random supplies scattered around the room than any one person could possibly use. Canvasses and papers were laid over almost every flat surface. All in various states of completion, he saw a piece of lined paper next to one of them. Standing up, he saw that it contained little notes stating where Leila had left off and what details were to be worked on in one order. Underneath the piece of notes was a small sketch. Holding it up to the actual canvass, Connor was shocked to see some sort of similarity. Hell, she must have been fucking obsessed with her work to put this much effort into it. Placing the papers back down on the table, he walked around the room, taking in the various other works around the room. They were all pretty good. Hell, they were damn good. Moody artist, he should have figured.

His gaze continued to fall around the paintings and drawings in the room with one catching his attention. A cityscape, washed in an ethereal silver. It was as if a cloud of light had washed over the landscape. Like a fairy tale, it presented a view of awe and of wonder. Traveling down the canvass, his eyes saw something that didn't fit, a deep red. Near the bottom, light met blood. It was this contrast that took him by surprise as his fingers went up to brush the spot where light became dark.

"Please don't touch the paintings." A voice said behind him, causing him to snap back into reality. Tuning around, he saw Francesca standing in her doorway, a bag one hand and a pile of clothes in the other. "The oils on your hands might distort the coloring."

"Oh." Damn. Was that all he could come up with? Like a small child staring at an angry librarian for speaking too loudly in their domain, a sheepish look came across his face. "Sorry about that."

"You should be." Was the curt response he received, "I've been working on the canvass for three months."

Never could she accept anything as is. No. She had to try and make an argument out of everything. But he wasn't going to let her have the pleasure of yelling at him again. No, this time he wasn't going to respond.

"But I'm almost ready to go. I'm just going to change and gather up my portfolio." To these words, Connor merely nodded, throwing himself back down on the couch. His eyes glued themselves onto a small clock mounted onto the wall, watching the hands circle around.

Five minutes. Ten minutes. Fifteen minutes. Connor let out an exasperated sigh as the thought entered his mind again to go downstairs and see if the bar was open. "Time certainly does fucking fly when yer having fun." He mumbled. His ears caught the sound of a door opening and turned around to find Leila walking towards the living room, "What the fuck took so long?" he sighed, "Did you get sucked down the drain or something?"

But his humor fell on unsympathetic ears. "Blood's difficult to get off." She said simply, walking around the room and gathering up canvasses and papers. Wrapping each of her canvasses in a white cloth, she added them to what looked like an oversized briefcase. From a closet Connor watched her pull out what looked like an entire art store and place it gingerly inside the case before snapping it shut.

"Okay. Yer've changed; yer packed. Are ye ready to go now?" he sighed, beginning to feel a bit irritable again.

"Yes." She replied simply, "In fact I am."

---------------------------------------------

The drive back was silent, and thank goodness. Leila had enough going on in her mind without having to deal with mindless conversation. She had never thought that packing would be such a difficult thing. Leila had done it numerous times before, but each with the concrete knowledge of when she would be returning home. As she placed her belongings in her bag today, she had no knowledge of when she would be returning nor if she would ever see her apartment again. Connor and Murphy's father had promised that they meant her no harm and that she would get to go home soon, but it was difficult to trust a man whose sons just killed a room full of people.

Her bag was in the back seat, a combination of items she found to be necessary and ones that her heart had pulled at her to bring along. Amongst the clothes that she had picked out of her drawers were a few more sentimental items: a few books from her shelf, a small leather-bound photo album, a wooden music box, and a silver cross that her grandmother had given her on her first communion. She'd cleaned it the afternoon before she had gone out to get a small smattering of paint off of it and had left it hanging by her bed to dry. Circling her neck, she felt comforted by its presence, a reminder that no matter what, there was somebody watching after her; that no matter what, she still had her family and they would be looking for her.

Staring straight ahead, she glanced out of the corner of her eye at Connor. She was livid with him, but her actions had piqued her curiosity when she had seen him with staring at her painting like that. There was a look of awe there that, as strange as it may sound, made Leila feel appreciated. There were very few things that she had ever been able to take pride of in her life, and one of them was her artwork. It was the passion that kept her life running smoothly through everything. Even during the rougher years of her youth, it had been an escape. She was used to having her work evaluated, appraised, but rarely looked at in such a way that Connor had been. He looked at it as if he was actually seeing it, not just the minor technical details that composed it; he looked at it as if he actually saw what she saw.

Hearing Connor clear his throat, she yet again shot a glance at him out of the corner of her eye, this time meeting his head on. Holding his stare, she wondered what the hell was going on.

"Listen." He sighed, "I'm sorry about how I acted earlier today. "Must have been a bad morning."

On any normal day, Leila would have said that he should have been sorry, that he had been a complete and utter asshole, but something else seemed to have crept into her mind. "You can say that again." She snorted, an actual smile tugging at the corners of her face. "I'm betting that it's contagious. Most likely your brother and Vincent will have it when we get back."

"Don't say that." He chuckled, "You don't want to see Murph in a bad mood, lass. It's not pretty."

"And neither is Vincent." Leila laughed.

Silence fell between them yet again until they reached the apartment. Jumping out of the car to grab her things, she almost bumped into Connor as she turned around. His hand reached for her elbow as she stumbled backwards, helping her regain her balance. Uttering a quick apology, she started to walk towards the door.

"Lass." Another set of footsteps fell in time with hers as she walked towards the entrance.

"Yes." Leila responded, turning to face Connor. The morning sun's rays caused her eyes to narrow as she looked at him, her nose crinkling slightly as she adjusted to the light.

"That painting. The one of the city." He said slowly, as if he were choosing each word deliberately, "It was beautiful. I'd never seen anything like it before."

She could feel her face reddening as he spoke those words. While she was usually a casual person, she prided herself in her ability not to let such emotions show under most circumstances. But that ability seemed to have left her as well since last night. How did one respond to that? Leila knew how to respond to critiques of her work, of reviews of her use of color and shading, but never an outright compliment. It was a comment that had taken her by surprise, and for once left her speechless. "Uh, thank you." She said, hoping that her words were at least somewhat normal. "But I have a lot more detail to add to it before I'm done."

Shaking his head, yet another smile came across Connor's face. "That might be, but it's still amazing." He said, pausing for a moment. "Look. I know yesterday was difficult on you, but I want you to know I didn't mean to harm you. It might be strange, but how about we just start over, _tabla rasa_." He added, extending his hand to Leila.

"_Tabla rasa._" She said tentatively, shaking his hand.

"Good. Now, let's get upstairs before that cousin of yours thinks I killed you."

For once not making a comment back, Leila followed Connor up the stairs to his apartment, feeling as if somehow the events of that morning hadn't taken place.


End file.
